


Mirrorverse

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aliens, Anal, Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Mirror Universe, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Oral, Parallel Universes, Pining, Rimming, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:03:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You say the assassination happens in one hour? I’m so sorry, Watson, but you won’t make it back in time to save my life.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirrorverse

 

 

“Remember, you’ve got to convince him!” Molly pleaded, strapping John into the device, “And tell him… tell him I’ve always loved him.”

John nodded miserably. He knew he’d never be seeing Molly and Mike again. This was a one-way trip and John was taking the only cab back- and by cab he meant distance-hopping-alien-device. They’d broken onto the base specifically to use it so one of them could get back to Sherlock in time to warn him of his impending assassination attempt from _within_ their rebel organization. John had drawn the short straw so Molly and Mike were going to try to work their way back out of the Baskerville base they’d broken into- in order to steal the device to get one of them home _fast-_ and return to ‘Baker Street’ the long way. No one had much hope for their survival.

John gave Mike a nod and gripped the toggles while Molly plugged in the coordinates.

“Remember,” John insisted, “Destroy it after or they’ll just follow me.”

Molly nodded and Mike saluted him; John couldn’t return it, but he hoped his sad smile was enough to convey what an honour it had been to serve with them both. The world around him fizzled out and he was suddenly shoved forward as if being kicked in the back. Smoke and soot filled his nose and mouth as he hit the ground _hard_. John struggled to breathe even as he struggled out of the contraption strapped to his back and stood upright. He blinked the filth out of his eyes and glanced around to see he’d not only landed in ‘Baker Street Base’, but he’d ended up in Sherlock’s quarters which were designed to look almost exactly like the original Baker Street before the aliens had descended and destroyed half of London as they conquered earth. He appeared to have come out through the fireplace, which explained all the soot.

Sherlock Holmes himself stood up from his chair and gave John a shocked look. Well he might. John wasn’t due to return to base for two more weeks and he _certainly_ wasn’t supposed to return via alien gizmo.

“Sherlock, thank the gods,” John panted, “Listen to me. I know you don’t want to believe it, but Mycroft _is_ working against us. I have proof here that he’s planning to assassinate you _today_ , in _one hour_ , and he’s going to do it _himself_. See for yourself. I know you’ll recognize the handwriting. You know I wouldn’t have left Molly and Mike behind and risked stealing this hopper thing to get here if it I wasn’t completely fucking certain!”

John held out the packet, much dirtied, but Sherlock didn’t take it. He was giving John a sad look. John assumed that meant he believed him without reading the packet; the man was a genius, after all. He was just trying to find the words to comfort him over such a truly heartrending betrayal when Sherlock finally spoke.

“You say the assassination happens in one hour? I’m so sorry, Watson, but you won’t make it back in time to save my life.”

“What are you talking about? I have! I’m here! You’re alive!”

“I’m afraid not. Look closely. I’m not _your_ Sherlock, and _my_ John Watson is in the shower. You’ve not traveled a great distance as you apparently expected to, you’ve crossed into a parallel universe… and I don’t know how to get you back.”

XXX

John stepped out of the shower and headed upstairs to dress, hurrying when he heard a soft murmur of voices from the den. He had his robe on, of course, but he didn’t want clients to see him like that. He changed quickly and hurried downstairs in the hopes of catching Sherlock before he rushed off on a case without him. He preferred to accompany the madman.

When John stepped into the sitting room it was like stepping into a funhouse. There was another John Watson, dressed in shabby grey clothes and covered in soot, grabbing Sherlock by the lapels and shaking him.

“YOU’RE SHERLOCK HOLMES! USE YOUR MIND PALACE!!”

“I CAN’T JUST PULL INTERDIMENSIONAL TRAVEL OUT OF MY ARSE, WATSON!”

“I’M NOT ASKING YOU TO PULL IT OUT OF YOUR ARSE! I’M ASKING YOU TO PULL IT OUT OF YOUR BRILLIANT FUCKING MIND!”

“What the _hell_ is going on?” John asked.

Watson gave him a horrified look, “What did you say about us touching?”

“I didn’t…” John stammered.

“No, I did,” Sherlock stated, pulling himself free of Other John, “I was just telling Watson here to avoid touching you- and now I’m telling you the same- because I’ve no idea what sort of results two John Watson’s from two parallel universes touching could…”

“Oh!’ John decided, “I get it! This is a dream! Next we’ll double up on you, right?”

Sherlock’s expression went from confused to gleeful to aroused and then to scolding, “I told you _not to touch_ , John. So no. No doubling up on me… regardless of how fantastic that would be.”

“I _have_ to get back,” Watson insisted, “He’ll die if I don’t! Mycroft’s plan is full proof and Sherlock won’t see it coming! He’s too damn convinced that Mycroft cares more about him than finding the easy way out of the alien occupation!”

“Then he deserves to die,” Sherlock snorted, sitting down in his chair, “ _I_ could have told you my brother would choose the path of least resistance and less death. If it means assassinating a rebel leader in order to enter into peace talks with these aliens you mentioned, than that rebel leader being his brother wouldn’t slow him down.”

John noted that Watson was more than a bit pissed off at that comment, but was taking slow breaths to calm himself. John stepped further into the room and closer to Sherlock just in case he lost his battle.

“I need,” Watson started slowly and softly, “To get. Back. To. My. Universe.”

“Not possible within the time constraints,” Sherlock stated, picking up a broken piece off of some strange metal backpack that looked as if it belonged on Ghost Busters, “Especially as your unit is broken. It will require time to study, repair…”

“I haven’t got the time,” Watson stated, and then raised what was clearly a weapon and pointed it at Sherlock, “Get me home. Now.”

“This isn’t real,” John decided.

“Of course it is,” Sherlock replied, “Now put that down James. It’s worrying John.”

“What?” Watson and John both asked.

“Watson is too informal,” Sherlock explained, “For the duration of his stay John Watson #2 is now James. So. James. Put down that weapon and help me with this if you’d like to return home. That is the expedient route, wouldn’t you say?”

“Uhm, Sherlock?” John tried, not relaxing despite the fact ‘James’ had lowered his weapon with a sigh of acceptance.

“Yes, John?” Sherlock asked, holding up a piece of burnt metal and peering at it curiously.

“Shouldn’t we do something about his gun?”

“Oh yes, give that here,” Sherlock took it from James’ pocket and stuffed it under the cushion of his chair.

“Oh good,” John stated dryly, “He’ll never find it there.”

James gave John a half-smile and then went back to looking everything over and frowned, “This is useless. I have no idea what this stuff is or how it works. We just stole it and used it.”

“How did you use it if it’s foreign to you?” Sherlock asked.

“There was an instruction manual in English for the slaves,” James laughed bitterly.

“Slaves?” John asked in disgust.

James glanced up at him, “Yes. It’s horrible. You know… you look a bit young. Maybe I’m not in an alternate universe. Maybe I’m in the past. I could fix everything!”

James looked at Sherlock hopefully but he gave him a headshake, “No, I’m afraid not. You’re both the same age, you’ve just suffered more than my John has.”

“Um, Afghanistan?” John pointed out.

“Same here,” James replied.

“Trust me,” Sherlock replied, “You’re different. We can dwell on how later.”

“You’ve deduced it all, I suppose,” John replied with a scoff.

“Same Sherlock, different universe,” James replied with a snort, “What about this? Looks important.”

“It’s the on switch,” Sherlock replied.

“That would explain why it’s red,” John nodded in amusement.

“Are you going to help?” Sherlock asked while James ground his teeth.

“How? You told me not to touch him. It seems a bad idea to crawl around in a cramped area reaching for little bits of metal.”

“Then make us _tea_ ,” Sherlock snapped. James’ head shot up.

“Fine,” John sighed, turning and walking away.

“Tea?” James asked, licking his lips, “You have _tea_ in this universe?”

“Of course,” Sherlock replied, “Every civilized universe has tea.”

James and Sherlock had the device partly put back together when John returned with the tea and placed the tray on the floor next to them, “Here you are.”

James hesitated to turn away from the device, but his longing for the tea won out and he reached out to cradle it to his chest while still kneeling on the floor. He breathed in the scent and then quietly sipped before letting out a blissful sigh.

“Oh gods, tea. With _actual_ sugar,” James breathed, “When I go back and save Sherlock, can I take some with me?”

“No,” Sherlock stated.

“Sure,” John replied.

Sherlock and John glared at each other and then Sherlock put the last piece in and sighed, “It’s together. Shall we turn it on?”

James gave his tea a sad look and then headed over to re-strap the backpack onto his back. Sherlock helped him with it and then flipped a few switches.

“Wait,” James started, “Listen, there’s a chance the aliens from _my_ universe exist in yours, too.”

“And?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Get a hold of someone in the government. Convince them to build big guns. Seriously big guns. If you can’t, than do it yourself. You might have a chance when they do find you.”

“Mycroft will help,” Sherlock nodded.

“You can’t _trust_ him,” James argued, shaking him again.

“Stop shaking me!” Sherlock snapped, pushing him away, “Mycroft won’t react the same way in this situation because he will be prepared to _prevent_ the threat rather than sacrifice to stop it once it’s already emerged. Trust me.”

James gave him a miserable look, “That’s what _my_ Sherlock said.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and hit the final toggle on his pack. It sputtered, growled loudly, and then spat out a plume of smoke onto the floor. Everyone coughed and James stripped it off while swearing loudly as it burned his back.

“Now what?” James sputtered, “We’ve got ten minutes!”

“We’ll have to go to Mycroft…” Sherlock replied while John opened a window.

“No!” James gasped, “We can’t trust him!”

“For all we know,” Sherlock argued, “England already took out the aliens who conquered your universe and have a store of these in Baskerville.”

James scoffed, looked at John to back him up, and then back to Sherlock when John was found to be unhelpful.

James shouted angrily, “ _My_ Sherlock is going to die in ten minutes! I have to get to him! I have to save him!”

“Okay, okay,” John soothed, “We’ll try again.”

“Waste of time,” Sherlock argued, but knelt down to work on the pack anyway.

Nine minutes later James suddenly darted out a hand and grasped John’s forearm. Sherlock took in a sharp breath but nothing happened. 

“ _Why_ did you do that?” Sherlock snapped.

“I hoped it would take me back. Push us apart or…”

“Or nothing!” Sherlock snapped, “You could have killed him!”

James’ eyes lifted to the clock on the wall and he sat back against the chair, all the colour draining from his face.

“James?” John asked in concern.

“It’s over. Mycroft wouldn’t strike a second before or after he meant to. Sherlock is dead. _My_ Sherlock is dead,” James replied, his voice choked, “I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever cared about. Everyone.”

John gave James a worried look, “Not _everyone_ surely…”

“Everyone,” James replied, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back on John’s chair, “My sister. My friends. My Sherlock. And he was our last hope. The resistance will be crushed within a few hours and the aliens will be completely uncontested. They’ll just farm us for the rest of our lives.”

“Why would Mycroft be okay with that?” John asked worriedly, “That doesn’t sound like the lesser of two evils.”

“It isn’t,” Sherlock replied, “Which means it’s probably not. Let me see that packet.”

Sherlock looked through the packet James had brought with him while he leaned forward hopefully, but Sherlock sat back with a sad sigh.

“Lesser of two evils,” Sherlock nodded, “The resistance the other Sherlock- who will now be called William for the sake of my sanity- the resistance _William_ was leading was causing massive deaths on both sides. Mycroft made the hard call that William didn’t want to make. Wait a few years, store up supplies, gather those intelligent enough to create massive weapons, and then take the aliens out all at once when they aren’t expecting it. William was wrong.”

“No,” James snarled, scrambling to his feet, “William is _right._ He’s fighting for our freedom!”

“He was fighting with no end in sight, no relief, no supplies, no plan. He was just _fighting_.”

“For _our freedom_!” James shouted angrily, “To save us from being _enslaved_.”

“You’re already enslaved according to this,” Sherlock replied, waving the papers in his hand, “He was fighting a lost battle. William was wrong.”

“It’s _Sherlock_ , and he is _right!_ ” James stopped shouting then, closing his eyes and swaying on his feet, “Was right. Was. I’m going out.”

“Out where?” John asked.

“Drinking,” James replied, and then shoved Sherlock out of the way to grab the weapon from beneath the chair, “Then I’m going to eat my gun. You can keep it after. We stole the technology from the aliens so you might be able to use it later on.”

“Wait a second!” John argued, chasing after him.

“Piss off!” James shouted, rounding on him, “You think I missed what you said earlier? I solved crimes with _my_ Sherlock. I ran all over London watching him deduce everything from occupation to hidden aneurisms! You two are _lovers_.”

“So?” John asked in confusion.

“So _I never got that!_ ” James shouted, “I never bloody told him and then _this_ happened! He’s gone and I never got to…”

James clenched his jaw, holding himself steady for a moment while he forced back tears. Then he took in a deep breath through his nose, turned, and stomped out of the flat. John put out a hand when Sherlock started to follow him.

“Not your John,” John pointed out, “Let me handle this. I know what he’s going through. I lost you once, after all.”

Sherlock nodded and John chased after his alter ego to find him standing on the pavement staring up at the sky with tears pouring down his cheeks. That was a lot less far and a lot more emotion than John was expecting.

“Ummm,” John tried awkwardly, “So… bar?”

“You’ve got a sky.”

“Well, yeah.”

“We haven’t got a sky anymore.”

“What have you got?” John asked in horror.

“Domes. Big domes. We have no idea why. They’re tinted so you can’t see the sky through them and all the plants have died. That’s why there’s no tea anymore. No leaves. No tea.”

“No crops,” John replied in confusion, “How do you _eat_?”

“They supply us with food. It’s tasteless. Like sand, but softer. Still gritty, though. It’s hateful.”

John was silent a moment, staring up at his sky and trying to imagine it gone forever, “So then we should probably get you some fish and chips while we’re at it. Last meal and all.”

John and James sat down at the pub on the corner and John ordered them a wealth of food and drinks. Then they began to sample a bit of everything they’d ordered and down it with beer. James was well into his second cup when John started to talk again.

“Did your Sherlock fake his death for two years?”

James snorted, “Yeah. The bastard.”

“What about mad experiments all over the house?” John asked.

“Bloody hell, yes. Arms and legs and tongues....”

They both looked up with a grin and spoke together, “Eyeballs.”

John and James chuckled, tucking in for a few minutes before James looked up with a serious expression.

“I can’t do it again. Last time I married and tried being ‘normal’. There’s no point to that now. There’s no hope left for us there. No point in having children. No point in making love. It’s not even satisfying anymore. It’s just… empty… without him.”

“You could stay here. Hell, you may have to. Besides, _we’ve_ got a Sherlock,” John grinned.

“Not _my_ Sherlock. Not that he really _was_ my Sherlock. He was just _a_ Sherlock who I happened to know.”

“You were his blogger?” John asked.

“Yeah. His blogger. His doctor. His flatmate. His soldier. His friend. His tea service- until the tea ran out. His idiot. Everything but his lover.”

“Same for the most part,” John nodded, “Until after he faked his death and then… Listen, this might be the beer talking but...”

“What?” James asked.

“Why not be his lover, too?”

“Because necrophilia isn’t my thing?” James replied with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean _my_ Sherlock,” John replied, “Did you see his face when I mentioned us doubling up on him?”

James’ eyebrows furrowed, “You’d share him?”

“With myself? Absolutely,” John laughed, “Sharing a bed with you would be like masturbating, right? So sharing Sherlock with you would be nothing.”

James frowned, “I don’t think you’ve thought this through. Or you’ve drunk more than I have. You’d be sharing his time, his affection, his…”

John nearly spit out his beer but managed to gulp it down, “His affection? This is Sherlock we’re talking about. He doesn’t _do_ affection.”

“I thought… you don’t love each other?” James asked.

“Sure we do. We obsessively, irrationally love each other,” John replied with a wide grin, “But he’s not affectionate and he doesn’t make time for me. He lends me time in between cases and we have wild sex when he’s bored. It’s nice.”

James thought a moment, “I obsessively, irrationally loved _my_ Sherlock too. I couldn’t just spend one night with yours.”

John nodded thoughtfully, “Well, if you ever change your mind. I know he’s hot for it. He could barely take his eyes off of you, and it wasn’t his usual ‘I want to cut that up and see how it works’ expression.”

“Well that’s comforting,” James laughed, waving for another beer.

“You know,” John mused once he was deeper into his cup, “You and I… Sherlock and John. I don’t care what universe either of us is from. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson should _always_ be together.”

“Sherlock would mock you if he heard that,” James chuckled, and John raised his mug to him.

XXX

They returned to the house quite pissed and giggling as they clung to each other. Sherlock was stretched out on the couch waiting for them. He gave them a glare as they walked in.

“You’re drunk,” He accused.

“We’re going to masturbate,” James snickered.

“Have fun,” Sherlock snorted, and then gaped as John pinned James to the door and started snogging his brains out.

The two men were frotting against the door when Sherlock started prodding them away from it and towards the bedroom. They turned on him in an instant and he found himself being groped from both sides. Sherlock was instantly hard but unwilling to take advantage of either man while he was drunk. He continued to herd them towards the door to his bedroom and once they were inside he pushed the two men towards the bed and they stumbled down in a mess of sloppy kisses. Sherlock adjusted his erection in his trousers and pulled up a chair to watch as they flirted with him while groping each other. Clothes were half opened, shirts shoved up and trousers down. Two matching erections were palmed in a linked set of hands. Sherlock undid his own trousers and took himself in hand from within his pants. He didn’t trust them to not react if he actually took his cock out since they were clearly putting this show on for him. He was soon stroking himself rhythmically while John gasped while straddling James’ hips. James’ eyes were rolled back in his head as he approached climax fast, his cries soft and frantic as he arched into John’s touch.

“Sherlock,” James moaned, “Oh gods, Sherlock! Yes!”

Sherlock gasped and came into his pants, forcing his eyes to remain open as James arched his back and painted his stomach with stripes of white. John released his cock while James lay dazed with pleasure and booze. He lifted himself up higher on his knees and thrusted into his own hand, using James’ semen as lubricant as he chased his release. James’ eyes refocused and he reached up to palm John’s bollocks while glancing aside at Sherlock. Insecurity danced in his eyes and Sherlock struggled to give him the sort of reassuring look he probably needed. The result was him grinning and pointing out his damp pants. It did the trick and James grinned and turned his attention to John who was gasping and groaning as he tried to reach culmination but couldn’t quite get over the edge. Sherlock knew what he needed and sidled up to them both. He ran a finger through the semen on James’ stomach, drawing a gasp from him, and then reached down to prod John’s arse. He let his hand move with John’s body before putting a bit of pressure on him once he felt his entrance flutter open a bit. John gasped, stilled, and waited for Sherlock to slide in. Once there Sherlock twisted his finger a bit and then finally curved it to finger his prostate. John let out a strangled cry and James’ hand shot up to stroke him only twice before John came hard across his double’s body. James stared at him with amazement and then sagged back in the bed. John sighed and flopped down on the bed with a happy look on his face.

Sherlock studied his flatmate turned lover and that precious person’s mirror universe self. Then he went to his hiding spot in his decorative Turkish slipper to pull out a few cigarettes. John and James were already snoring when he returned, opened a window to keep the smell down, and lit up. It was going to be a long night and he was going to have a _lot_ to think about.

XXX

They left the Diogenes Club with James sitting sullenly on one side of Sherlock and John on the other. He was angry with them for confiding in Mycroft and even angrier with Mycroft for simply nodding and confiscating the backpack and gun from his universe. He was told that if they found a way to send him back then they would do so at the first opportunity. James stared out the cab window and felt his heart tear in two. On one hand he wanted to go back, to make peace with his horrible past and bury the man he loved. On the other hand he sat here in a virtual utopia- compared to his mirrorverse- with a nearly perfect copy of the man he loved sitting beside him alive and well. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and never let go. He wanted to scream at him that he could _prevent_ a disaster if he just _tried_. He wanted to kill himself to avoid having to face any of it. He wanted to be brave enough to live through this hell in heaven.

“We need to visit a very powerful telescope,” Sherlock decided, “Maybe we can spot our green friends.”

“They’re actually pink,” James replied, “And we don’t know where they came from. Maybe another universe since their stupid backpack brought me here.”

“You’re avoiding the sex issue,” Sherlock stated plainly.

“There _i_ s no sex issue. We’re not going to sleep together because I’ve already lost enough,” James replied, trying to end the conversation with tone as well as words.

“You haven’t killed yourself, therefore you’re still interested,” Sherlock argued blandly, “You need this.”

“I need to die. I’m done with this. All of it,” James sighed, “Drop me off at Hyde Park.”

“No,” Sherlock decided.

“Mister!” James called to the cabby, “Hyde Park.”

James got out and Sherlock followed him, taking off at a fast pace with John hot on his heels.

“James!” Sherlock called, “James!”

“My name!” He spun around, “Is _not_ James! It’s John! John Watson! Doctor John Watson! And I’m _tired_!”

“So come to bed.”

“How will _sex_ solve this?” James demanded.

“It won’t,” Sherlock replied, “But you won’t be alone anymore. Come back with us. You can have me to yourself if you want.”

“For a night?” James asked, laughing through his sob.

“For as long as you need. You may not be _my_ John, but you’re John Watson. That’s good enough for me. Come _home_ , John. Please.”

Sherlock held out his hand and James stepped forward slowly, his steps staggering a bit. He took that outstretched hand and held it a moment. When Sherlock tugged he fell into his arms, sobbing and shaking as Sherlock held him gently. Once he’d calmed a bit Sherlock led him back to the waiting cab and they slid in to drive the few blocks back to Baker Street. Once there they ascended to Sherlock’s room where he gently stripped James down to his pants and tucked him into his bed.

“Now what?” John asked softly, “He’s a wreck.”

“I cuddle with him in storybook fashion while you make tea and fret about the future of our relationship,” Sherlock replied, equally soft.

John gave him a disgusted look and headed out to the kitchen to make tea while Sherlock stripped down to his pants and curled up behind James.

“Your history,” Sherlock asked softly, “Any risk of STI’s?”

“No. No sex in years. No interest. Just Sherlock and he was always just out of reach. Chasing off all my dates but never coming near me. Did _your_ John make the first move? Is that what I did wrong?”

“No. I did. I saw his puppy dog eyes and offered to suck his cock. He agreed and we’ve been sexily ever after.”

“Would it be weird if I rolled over?”

“Nope.”

James rolled over and pressed his face into Sherlock’s chest, “You smell like him.”

“It’s normal to mourn,” Sherlock stated, “At least, that’s what John told me. I’m not sure I understand since _I’m_ Sherlock and _I’m_ here.”

“If _your_ John died?” James demanded angrily.

“I’d have you.”

“So I’m a spare?” James growled.

“I talk to John even when he’s not here. You work out for yourself how important he is to me. Yes, you’ve had different life experiences, you aren’t the same person, but you _are_ the same person.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I’m trying to say find a romantic way to say ‘let’s have a threesome’,” Sherlock stated with a snort.

James smiled bitterly, “Yeah. Okay. Sure. What have I got to lose?”

XXX

There were too many elbows and knees and not nearly enough tongues and cocks. At least that was James’ view of the entire situation as the three of them toppled into bed together and two men struggled to touch every inch of one man as possible. Hands got in the way; thighs rubbed together that felt far too familiar. A puckered scar on one shoulder was examined and then hungrily lapped at while the recipient moaned hungrily.

Sherlock struggled to his knees and then spread his thighs as John spread his cheeks and lapped at his pucker while James took his first try at sucking cock. Sherlock leaned forward to give John more access, propping himself up on James’ shoulders as he moaned hungrily.

“Teeth!” Sherlock snapped. James hummed an apology, but Sherlock only moaned and shook his head, “No, not you. _Him_. Use your teeth and… oh _fuck_ that’s good!”

John ran his teeth along Sherlock’s cleft and the inside of each arsecheek, scraping the sensitive flesh to excite the nerve endings before giving him a firm bite and then lapping at the abused spot. Sherlock moaned and wriggled in pleasure, arching forward to fuck James’ mouth while pushing back onto the tongue fucking his arse. James choked but came back for more, stubborn and determined to please him. Sherlock was gasping in pleasure, his body finding a rhythm and then abandoning it as he raced towards orgasm.

“If I come now,” Sherlock gasped, “We’ll all enjoy this less.”

James pulled back, licking his lips and feeling highly relieved while John pulled away with a chuckle.

“Don’t worry, James,” John comforted, “You’re afraid to taste it now, but eventually you’ll be doing what I am.”

“I _really_ don’t think I will,” James replied, giving John a disgusted look, “You don’t kiss me. M’kay?”

John snickered and then gave Sherlock’s arse another sharp bite. Sherlock’s cock jumped eagerly and James watched it bob hungrily.

“Now what?” James asked, licking his lips, “Who gets to be on top?’

“We switch off,” John replied, “But you should get to top for your first time. I did.”

“You were awful. I want to top him for his first time,” Sherlock pouted.

“Do I get a say?” James asked.

“Sure,” John stated cheerfully.

“No,” Sherlock decided firmly.

James grabbed Sherlock by his curls and kissed him hard enough to bruise. He moaned against his mouth and tugged their hips together. John watched eagerly as they toppled sideways to roll about on the bed, each trying to get himself between the other’s legs without causing injury or giving in. James ended up between Sherlock’s thighs, both on their sides and facing each other, pulling one leg up over his hips with one hand and stroking his cock with the other to keep him pliant.

John grinned his support and grabbed a bottle of lube. He slicked up his fingers and started prodding Sherlock’s pucker as he moaned and wriggled eagerly.

“I… I want to do that,” James breathed.

“I’ll show you how,” John replied softly, reaching for his wrist.

“I know how,” James grinned, “Doctor, remember?”

James accepted the squirt of lubricant from John’s grasp and slipped his fingers inside to stretch Sherlock open. Once he had him wide and ready for him he steadied Sherlock’s leg on his hip and pressed his own leg between his thighs once more. Sherlock reached down to help guide him in when he faltered and John let out a sigh of amazement as he watched him slide inside.

“This is surreal,” John whispered.

James was beyond words. He was sliding into wet, tight heat and drowning in he scent of Sherlock Holmes. They were both panting with want, sweat damp on their brows, with Sherlock making soft sounds of discomfort as he waited for the burn to end. Then James stilled inside of him, panting and trying to hold himself back from fucking fast and hard to reach the bliss he knew was on the other side of their coupling. He leaned forward and captured those full lips, nibbling at them as Sherlock lay panting and lost, impaled on his cock and waiting for John to move. When his eyes opened James felt himself center in on them as if the man before him were the only one in all of the universes in existence.

“Ready?” James asked.

Sherlock nodded weakly and James slid partway out, rolling his hips, and then pushed back in.

“Ohhhh, yes,” Sherlock gasped, clutching at his shoulders, “Mmmn, deeper.”

James was gasping for breath, his muscles tense as wire. John reached around Sherlock to stroke his face gently.

“Relax into it,” John whispered, “He’s tight, but he’ll loosen up in a few more thrusts. Angle your hips towards the front so you…”

“Prostate,” James panted, “I know.”

John grinned as James arched his back and rolled into him faster and faster. Sherlock gasped and started to shift with him, using the leg over James’ hips to squeeze his torso and aid in their movements.

“Let me ride you,” Sherlock gasped.

“M’I not doing it right?” James asked, “Tell me what to do. You love doing that.”

“S’perfect,” Sherlock gasped, “I want to… John! Gods! Yes!”

James pushed faster, watching in awe as Sherlock’s rainbow eyes flickered and rolled in his head. James knew he was likely watching sparks behind his eyes from the repeated press to his prostate and found himself moaning as he did whatever he could to keep that look of mindless bliss on his face.

“I need to… I need to…” Sherlock gasped.

“Yeah,” James breathed.

Sherlock pushed and James pulled and found himself staring up at the beautiful Sherlock Holmes as he writhed on his cock, chasing his pleasure mindlessly. Beside him, John flopped down and began slowly pumping his own hard shaft.

“I’m taking him after you,” John whispered, “Bring him off. He can come like this if you just stroke him a bit.”

James released that gorgeous, flexing hip and reached up to wrap his fingers around Sherlock’s long, lean cock. He stroked it up, tugging the foreskin as high as it would go, and then ran his thumb across the tip on the downstroke.

“Yes!” Sherlock cried out, shifting the angle to ride him faster and harder, lifting up off the bed to thrust into James’ hand as he held it at just the right angle for him.

“Sherlock,” James gasped, “My name. Say it. Call me John. James. _Anything_.”

Sherlock’s eyes flew open and focused on the man beneath him with all his brilliant intellect frozen in the place of pleasure.

“John,” He whispered, and then threw his head back and came with a sharp cry.

James couldn’t breathe for a moment, everything centered on his cock and the pulsating pleasure that spread out from it to the rest of his body. It climbed up his spine and triggered the hormones to release that would make him love the man above him even _more_ than he already did. It climbed down his legs and made them clench as his seed pulsed out into the body above him. It released his lungs so he could gasp his name over and over again until the man collapsed on top of him with a sigh of pleasure. For a moment he held him, then he looked to his left at the other John Watson, grinned and nodded.

The anxious desire on John’s face was quickly replaced with a hungry grin and he helped James roll Sherlock onto his back. There he climbed between his thighs, propping his hips up on a pillow, and pressed into his dripping wet hole.

“That’s disgusting,” Sherlock mumbled.

“I’m not too proud for sloppy seconds… hell, this feels good!” John gasped, starting to thrust faster, “Mmmn, you’re at the perfect spot for a hard fuck.”

“Argh, _away_ from my prostate!” Sherlock snapped.

“Sorry,” John panted, “Habit.”

John leaned back a bit, holding Sherlock’s hips higher, and began to fuck him faster. James grabbed another pillow and pressed it beneath Sherlock’s hips before settling down beside him to kiss him and stare into his eyes.

“Gorgeous,” James breathed, “You’re gorgeous.”

“John,” Sherlock breathed, “My lovers.”

Above him John was chasing his release without hesitation, growling and grunting in pleasure. James watched his hips snap and dimly recalled how good it had felt to have his hands on his body. John had stroked him through a painful night in his life so he had no qualms about sitting up and capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. John moaned into his mouth and then stilled as his climax rolled through his body, his hips twitching. He gave Sherlock a few more sharp thrusts, moaning again as his tongue flicked inside of James’ mouth, and then pulled away from them both with a sigh of relief.

“That… that was… damn,” John panted.

“Yeah it was,” James sighed, stretching out beside Sherlock again.

Sherlock rolled off the bed and stretched, heading to the shower with a sigh of pleasure. James sat up to watch his wet ass as it retreated to the bathroom. He and John sat on the bed, giggling at the sounds coming from the bathroom and entwining each other’s fingers as they studied each other’s faces in curiosity.

“Good?” John asked.

“Good,” James nodded, “And a good deal of other more expressive adjectives.”

John snorted and nodded, turning to admire the ceiling.

“So. Doctor,” John stated conversationally, “Don’t think I can picture myself as a doctor. Not after seeing Sherlock diagnose patients with the bedside manor of a mortician.”

“You’re… you’re not a doctor?” James asked in confusion.

“Nope. I’m a chemist. Sherlock’s a doctor,” John replied with a smile.

“Huh,” James sighed, “We’re the opposite. My Sherlock was a chemist. A brilliant one.”

“I wish I could call myself brilliant,” John chuckled, “But if I was I’d probably still be in the army. They discharged me after I was tortured during a hostage situation at the base I worked at. Gave me a medal, though. Apparently it’s heroic to refuse to give terrorists information on chemical warfare.”

“Chemical warfare?” James asked in alarm.

“Yeah, it’s how we won. Bastards never saw it coming, and then we just distributed the antidote to all the proven innocent citizens. No messy bombing, no horrible side effects, no murdering of innocent civilians. War was over in a month.”

“That’s… brilliant. Maybe the aliens avoided here for a reason.”

“Probably,” John snorted, “Sherlock’s a fair hand with chemical agents, too. We worked together on the cure since I didn’t have a medical background. That’s how we met. He was only on loan, so when I was booted out for PTSD he took me in as a flatmate. He works at St. Barts with New Scotland Yard and started dragging me to cases when I got depressed. The rest is history. How about you?”

“Yes to Afghanistan, no to chemical warfare. Damn war took… well, decades I guess. We met after I was shot in Afghanistan and invalided back. I was a military doctor and… well, it’s a long story.”

“It’s going to be a long night,” John shrugged, “You know Sherlock won’t let this alien thing sit.”

 

James smiled and began his story from the moment he met up with Mike Stamford. Sherlock joined them, crawling in between them and demanding cuddles. James continued his story, sharing in tears and laughter until the other two drifted off. He sat up and located John’s gun. It wasn’t where he thought he’d find it. He studied it silently for a moment and then slipped it back inside the hiding spot with the safety still on. He returned to the bed, pressing against Sherlock’s body and breathing in his scent with a happy sigh. It would be difficult. It would be lonely for a while. But it would _work_.


End file.
